Without You
by FlowerOwl
Summary: When America found Marlee sitting directly underneath the harsh sun, the decision to go over to talk with her simply felt right.


The annoyance and the anger towards Celeste vanished like dew before the sun as America turned around the corner, already intending to head back to her room to get a chance to look over the piece of music she knew would be waiting for her on top of her dresser, only for the sight of Marlee sitting on a bench, completely alone, with the sun hitting her bare shoulders, to make her stop in an instant.

Slowly making her way over to Marlee in an attempt not to startle her, America soon realised that there had been no need for her to try not to make any sudden noise, for it did not seem like Marlee was truly aware of her surroundings, instead fiddling with a strand of hair, letting the lock twist around her fingers and pulling for a second before letting go and repeating the process all over. Not even as America sat down next to her, having to place a hand against the flowing skirt of her dress to keep it in place rather than enveloping Marlee, did she look up, instead continued to stare at her hair.

Finally, it all become too much for America, so, clearing her throat and trying to look like she had only just turned around the corner and gone directly to sit down next to her, she placed a hand on her shoulder. "Marlee?" America whispered, and, while she would not have been able to explain why she felt like their conversation needed to remain secret, her voice remained low as she continued. "Are you all right?"

Despite how she had tried her best not to let her presence catch Marlee off guard, America could tell that she had not succeeded, as Marlee jerked, bringing her hand up to her face, the movement making America's hand fall back to rest against her side. But right then, America barely paused to notice it, instead trying to figure out what the countless emotions that flickered over Marlee's face in the fraction of a second it took her to regain her usual calm composure, smoothing out the frown that had replaced her otherwise usual happy demeanour in that moment, meant.

But before she was able to arrive at a conclusion, Marlee had pulled the corners of her mouth up into a little smile that might have been able to fool America had it not been for how she would be able to recognise the special way Marlee would smile when she was truly happy anywhere, the little wrinkle that appeared underneath her left eye almost looking like it was a smile itself when Marlee would laugh at one of the jokes she heard one of the other girls say, or—and some part of her could not help but regard that as an even more precious moment—when America had shown her a little piece of music she had learnt to play when she had been seven, Marlee having beamed at her in a way that made it seem like, in that moment, that room, the two of them, and the piano in front of her had been her entire world. Now, however, Marlee's smile was a hiding place for something else entirely, America could see that from the way the joy failed to reach her eyes, instead stopping at her lips.

When she finally spoke, breaking the silence between them, it was evident how it was not only a matter of her eyes not reflecting the same forced joy that could be found in her smile, as even the words sounded flat and tired when she turned to face America, a slight twinkle finally making her eyes seem less sad. "America…" Marlee asked, pausing after her name, her gaze flickering towards the rosebush situated next to the bench, "do you love him? The prince, I mean?"

The question took her by surprise and perhaps that was why she, rather than immediately answering by making fun of the way Maxon so often seemed to have received the perfect education and yet did not possess any common sense when it came to actually having to interact with girls his age, hesitated, letting herself ponder the question. Did she love Maxon? In a way, America knew that the answer would have to be yes, she did love him, she enjoyed those quiet moments where it seemed that, rather than being the prince and one of the selected, they were just two good friends, gossiping about the other's love life, and when she looked at him and heard him tell her about the burden the competition represented for him, she knew in her heart that she wanted for him to be happy. But could she bring herself to call that love, or at least regard it as romantic feelings? America was not certain, for, while she could not deny that part of her did smile back at him, reaching up towards her ear with a bit too much enthusiasm when he would look at her, the memory of Aspen still pulled her back home, towards Carolina.

"I think," America said, letting the words trail off to give herself more time to consider where the sentence would lead her, "that I must love him, at least a bit—otherwise, I doubt I would have been able to still be here. But I don't know how… romantic the feelings I have for him are. Why do you ask?" she glanced back at Marlee and tried not to let herself think too much about why her question made Marlee fiddle with her dress, crumpling up the soft fabric in her hands.

Marlee squirmed, and while she appeared to do her best to hide it, America could not help but notice how her gaze landed on her for a second before once more moving back to rest on her hands, her knuckles having turned white. "I don't know. I was just thinking about how… how we have all been brought here to compete for the prince, and that we all knew that it was what we would do when we sent in that application, but I…" Marlee looked up, towards the area where the other girls were still busy talking with the visiting guests, and America followed her line of sight, almost, but not completely, able to hear how Celeste laughed as she leant closer towards Maxon, placing her hand on his arm, "sometimes, I can't help but wonder if…" almost without thinking about it, America leant in towards Marlee, her whispering voice making it so she could hardly hear what she was saying. However, only a moment later, she realised that it had been a mistake, as the movement caused Marlee to shake her head, interrupting herself, "you know what, I am not making much sense right now. Just forget about it, I don't even know what I was trying to say." but despite how she claimed the opposite, the way Marlee's smile was gone in an instant, her eyes gaining the same sad expression as before, it seemed that Marlee had indeed known what she had been trying to say.

Although she knew that it would not help now, America could not help but silently repeat one of the curses she had heard her mother use the winter they had not been able to pay for the electric heating in their house. If only she had sat still, then perhaps she would now have known what Marlee had tried to tell her. But wondering about what could have been would not change the past, so although she would rather have tried to ask her again, America knew that the only thing she could really do now was to allow both of them to forget about it. And so, unable not to catch how Marlee had resumed crumpling up the fabric of her gown, she slowly, making sure that Marlee would have time to move her hand away if she wanted, reached out to take her hand.

"Marlee," she said, and the way the gesture seemed to bring Marlee back to the moment and the reality the two of them shared was enough to allow her voice to become a bit more confident, not trembling as much when she continued, "do you love the prince?"

Of all the possible response to the question America had imagined, what happened had not once crossed her mind. She had thought about how it might lead to Marlee laughing at her, placing a hand on her shoulder as she would assure her that of course she loved the prince, that was why she was even in the competition in the first place, how she might become defensive since, friends or not, this was after all still a competition where there could only be one winner, or how she might simply refuse to answer the question altogether. But none of that was what happened. Instead, Marlee froze, and had it not been for how America could see how her breathing sped up a little in response to the question, she might have assumed that she had not heard her.

The moment where she would have reached out, pulling Marlee into an embrace, to try to form an apology, apologising for the question she could now see had been too personal, too tactless for the moment between them, Marlee looked back up at her, but where America only a second before would have thought that it, the proof that Marlee was still there, was still present, was all she could have asked for, she now saw how it was the exact opposite of a sign that all would be fine. For though she did look at her, the glimmer in her eyes letting her know that she was thinking about her answer, the sight of how Marlee reached up to wrap her arms around herself, still unable to keep herself from shaking slightly, was not one America would ever have asked for.

Still, she could not bring herself to say anything, instead staying silent as Marlee opened her mouth to answer.

"I…" Marlee said, and this time, America knew better than to attempt to push for an answer, instead sitting still, waiting as Marlee slowly added. "no, I don't love him. I thought that I was going to love him when I sent in the application, I truly believed that I would one day love him when I saw my picture and heard that I had been selected." the look Marlee sent her, the slight hint of desperation she could see written across her face in the way she tried to form a smile only for it to resemble a frown more than anything else, let America know exactly how important it was for Marlee to make sure she would understand what she said as she continued. "Believe me, when I first arrived here, I truly believed that I had not taken the spot from someone who might actually have been able to love him, I did still believe that, if I only got the chance, I might perhaps grow to love him."

"But you will never love him, will you?" America finished for her, already able to read the answer in Marlee's eyes, the shiny glance she sent her almost rendering the short nod that accompanied Marlee's hushed answer needless.

"No, at least not the way that the country expects me to and not the way Maxon seems to wish that his soulmate will love him." A soft sigh escaped Marlee as she shifted, inching closer towards America. "And even if I had not been almost entirely certain that he already knows why I have tried my best not to let him ask me out on another date, I know that I would not be able to offer him that, for while I might not love him romantically, I do wish for him to become happy."

It was in that moment, the second where she looked up at Marlee and noticed how some of the perfectly curled tresses had moved from the knot to instead fall over her shoulders, a handful of freckles scattered across the skin almost seeming to draw her in, America realised what it would mean.

She had not meant to grip Marlee's hand, to tighten her grip like she alone would be able to keep her there with her, but nevertheless, that was what she did as her stomach felt like it dropped to the ground when she looked back up at Marlee's face. "So will you leave me?" America asked, the confusion that was apparent on Marlee's face letting her know how she would have to clarify the meaning of her question even before she had got the chance to realise how it had not made much sense. Clearing her throat, hoping that it would be enough to hide how she could feel the tears pressing against her will not to cry while there at the castle, where she could never be sure that there would not be a camera hidden in the bushes, only waiting to catch them in a private moment, letting the entire country see their deepest feelings, America added. "Since you don't love him, are you going to go home now?"

For a moment, America could have sworn that she saw a humourless smile pull the corners of Marlee's lips upward, but it was gone in an instant, instead replaced with the strange frown she was not sure she had ever seen present on her friend's face before as Marlee shook her head, the movement making strands of her hair brush against America's arm. "No," she said, "I don't think I can go home just yet. There is still a reason for me to stay here, even if I am not able to imagine myself with Maxon anymore."

"I am sure he will send you home if you asked him to," America tried, "trust me, I know that we were told he could keep us here for as long as it would take him to make a decision, but if you don't want to be here, I know that Maxon would send you home the moment you asked him to."

She had thought it would help her friend, make her feel better, to know that she was not the prisoner the official from the palace had made it seem like they would become the moment they had entered the Selection, but Marlee only shook her head slightly, looking down at the path in front of them, using the tip of her shoe to dig a tiny hole in the otherwise flawlessly kept stone path. "No," she whispered, and from the way the pebbles were sent flying, America could tell how she had put more force into the little kick than before, "I know that he would send me home if I wanted him to. That is not the reason I am staying."

"Then what is?"

The look Marlee sent her, the slightly raised brows, the way the little pull around her mouth might almost have been meant to be the beginning of a smile, almost seemed to be a sign that she should have known the answer to her question already. But while America tried her best to figure out what Marlee was talking about, pondering for a moment if perhaps Marlee was still hoping that she might one day love Maxon if she just stayed for a little longer, she could not figure out what the answer was, why Marlee let out a little sigh, pulling her hand out of America's grip to push a single lock of hair behind her ear.

She seemed to purposefully try her best let the action last longer than what was strictly necessary, but at last, she did turn back towards America to answer the question, a hint of a smile making her eyes sparkle. "There is still something keeping me here, and that is why I will try my best to be able to stay for as long as possible. While I might not be here to compete for Maxon's love, there is still something I have to do before I will be able to go home." the tone of her voice let America know that she was not willing to explain the cryptic answer, to let her know exactly what her reasons for staying were, and so, America began to wonder what it could be, slowly making her way through her own reasons for staying as well, hoping that it would reveal Marlee's reasons to her.

It took a moment longer than what it probably should have for America to realise what Marlee was talking about. The money. Of course. Although she had somewhat been able to forget the feeling of being so hungry that it was all she could think about, allowing the grandeur of the castle to envelop her, keeping the poverty she had left behind in Carolina at bay, the crease that would always appear between her mother's brows when they would receive yet another bill was still such a common sight that she could picture it when she closed her eyes, and while Marlee might have been born as a Four rather than a Five, America was sure that she was thinking about the same thing, how each day they spent here was able to bring their parents more money than they could ever have earned if they had still been at home. Some might have called it selfish, and America did not dare to think about what Celeste would have said if she had been able to see them there and hear their conversation, but the feeling of pride that would fill her each time her family would send her a letter, mentioning how the money they received for her participation had been able to better their life even a little, was one she knew all too well.

Her heart felt like it skipped a beat as America opened her mouth—what exactly she would say to Marlee did not appear all that important in that moment, the only thing that mattered was how she had to say something, tell her that, while America understood her concerns about returning home to her family to tell them that she had willingly left the palace, making it so that they would not receive money anymore, she would be there for her, would do her best to support her decision no matter what it was—but as her gaze fell, landing on Marlee's eyes and the way she was blinking furiously to keep herself from crying, a couple of tears escaping her despite the effort, America found herself lacking the words to explain to her how she was her best friend, the first friend she had ever been able to spend time with where they were just two girls talking with each other rather than two girls from a caste so low that they were unable to have the luxury of being able to share a conversation that did not have to also include the topic of money, and that she would stand by her no matter what, would take her hand if that was what it would take to give her the courage to ask Maxon to send her home so that she could continue her pursuit of happiness rather than allowing herself to accept the responsibility of making sure her family would not starve in the winter.

"Marlee," she finally managed to say, "I—if there is anything I can do to help you, don't hesitate to say so. Will you promise me that?"

The look she got in response was not one America knew how to interpret, but at last, Marlee did nod. "I will," she said, but already, the slight tremble in her voice was enough for both of them to know how that would not be the case. However, before America got the chance to ask her again, to try to explain how she would not leave her alone with her thoughts—and, truly, America did not know what she would have said—Marlee had pushed herself off the bench, leaving their little, private corner.

Her hair caught the sunlight as she walked away from her, and for a moment, it seemed to America that her friend was enveloped in the light, but then a shadow feel over her small form, and America was left behind to wonder why she could not help but feel like she had not quite understood what they had been talking about.


End file.
